


Sin of Omission

by Quilly



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Elevator AU, Gen, M/M, and maine is amused, carolina is the worst friend, in which wash is the biggest idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after a disastrous blind date is the day Wash rides the elevator up with his boss Carolina and some guy named Maine, who apparently only speaks Russian and otherwise is kind of cute, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin of Omission

**Author's Note:**

> request dump from tumblr. the prompt was basically "we've been riding the same elevator for weeks but due to a misunderstanding I didn't realize you spoke English and have been talking nonstop to my friend about how cute you are and finally you let me know you can understand me and WHAT THE HECK"

The day Carolina called Wash’s name to get on a different elevator from his usual is the day after a disastrous blind date with one of South’s friends. Honestly, he should have known better, South is notorious for screwing with him, but sue him for being lonely and up for some spontaneity in his life. Never again. He is never trusting South again. With anything.

But that has nothing to do with the elevator. Wash works on the eighth floor and takes the first elevator out of habit, but this particular Thursday, his manager, Carolina, calls his name as he walks through the doors with a coffee to go already half-drunk in his hand and hair disheveled from oversleeping.

“Get in,” she says, holding the door to the fourth elevator down open, and Wash hesitates only a moment before double-timing it inside, sighing. There’s one other person in the elevator, a behemoth of a man with muscles bigger than most babies and a name tag that simply says “Maine.” Wash nods at him politely, and the man grunts.

“So,” Carolina says after pushing the correct button (the sixth floor is also illuminated, must be where Maine works), “I heard you had an eventful night.” Wash drains the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth, sullen. Carolina grins and nudges him with her elbow. “Would you like me to talk to her?”

“No,” Wash says hurriedly. “The last thing I need is South getting on my case for tattling.” He crosses his arms. “She’s so childish, I swear.” He is fully aware of the irony of that statement while pouting. Maine makes some sort of low rumble in his chest. Digestion, maybe? “Last time I let anyone set me up ever again.”

“Don’t be like that,” Carolina says, in that way that speaks of her smile more than the slight uptick in the corner of her mouth ever could. “Maybe I have someone in mind for you next.”

“You, I guess I wouldn’t mind,” Wash grumbles. The elevator pulls to a smooth stop at the sixth floor, and the doors slide apart. Maine hefts his bag over his shoulder and raises his hand in goodbye.

“See you, Maine,” Carolina says, and Maine grunts back something that sounds like…Russian, maybe? “I’ll see who I can find.”

The next day Wash happens to walk through the door the same time as Maine, and in dismay sees that his usual elevator is closed for maintenance. The fourth elevator down is open again, however, and Carolina is holding the door open once more, a slight smirk on her face, for some reason. Wash sighs and follows Maine into the elevator. Someone else tries to squeeze on behind them, but Maine makes himself very large in the doorway and grunts…yeah, that definitely sounds like Russian. Maybe he doesn’t speak English?

He and Carolina chat on the ride up, and Maine says nothing, and from there, it just kind of becomes a habit, Wash showing up at the same time as Maine, the three of them riding the elevator up. Some days Wash is late, or Carolina isn’t there, or Maine gets off at the ninth floor instead of the sixth, but the fourth elevator becomes Wash’s new routine, even though it drops him a little farther from his cubicle than he’d like. On the days when Carolina is doing official manager business somewhere else, Wash studies his elevator partner in the smooth metal reflection of the door. He never says much except for those grunts now and then, and once a Russian invective when the strap of his bag snapped. Wash…Wash hasn’t been on a successful date in months and hasn’t had a relationship in over a year, and Maine is not unattractive. Not that Wash puts much stock in physical looks, but Maine is nice to look at. Nice is a subjective term, of course, because there are the times when he looms, all bronze skin and bulging muscles and that thing he does with his face that makes him look like a lion about to feast on the souls of people thinking they can get on the elevator when it’s just him and Wash. Wash doesn’t know how to feel about that.

It’s a Tuesday, a few weeks after the elevator arrangement seems to have become permanent, when Wash casually says, “So, found me a date yet?”

Carolina snorts a surprised laugh. “Not getting desperate, are we?”

“Maybe a little,” Wash concedes, letting himself smile. “I think York is trying to hook me up with someone in the simulation department.”

“I’m keeping my eyes peeled,” Carolina says, and she sounds more amused than the statement warrants, but Wash doesn’t pay it any mind. “Unless you had someone in mind?”

Wash hesitates, but then, the only thing he’s ever heard Maine say was in a different language, so, nonchalantly, he says, “Maine’s pretty cute.”

Carolina chokes. Maine pounds on her back as she coughs and sputters, laughing herself stupid. Wash purses his lips until Carolina wipes her eyes and says, “Yeah, I guess in a way, he is. Adorable.”

Maine looks at her questioningly, and Carolina waves her hand and shakes her head in a “not you” gesture. He grunts and goes back to staring at the ticking numbers, and when he gets off the elevator, Carolina says, “Maine, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wash shrugs. “I mean, I guess there’s the language barrier there and everything, but he’s. He’s not bad-looking. Right?”

“Oh yeah,” Carolina says, a little too seriously. “The language barrier.”

For some reason, for the rest of the day she grins, hugely, whenever she sees him.

The next morning, seeing Maine holding open the door for him and Carolina jogs Wash’s memory, and he continues as the elevator slides shut, “I mean, hypothetically speaking, Maine would be better than. Like. Flowers, for instance.”

“How so?” Carolina asks, definitely grinning.

“Maine isn’t creepy like that guy is,” Wash says. “And. Like. Look at his muscles. They’re nice muscles.”

“As muscles go,” Carolina agrees. “Should I set you two up?”

Maine gets off the elevator and for a second Wash thinks he’s smiling before the doors slide shut.

“I dunno. Maybe. I need to think about it some more.”

And for a solid week, Wash makes the executive decision to talk about Maine, in the elevator, like Maine isn’t even there. He supposes he should feel bad about that, but it’s not like Maine understands what he’s saying. He only speaks in Russian every time Wash hears him, and Wash has been flipping through some language software. Idly. In his spare time. For no reason.

On Friday, Wash gets on the elevator and Carolina is occupying where Wash usually stands, leaving an open space between her and Maine. Wash steps into this space warily. The doors close. The elevator starts climbing.

“I get off at five,” Maine says in perfect English.

Wash stares. Then his face turns bright red, and he rounds on Carolina, who is smiling like a cat with a bowl full of cream and shaking already with silent laughter.

“You knew!” he yells, ignoring how his voice cracks. “You knew, and you let me—oh man,” he says, turning back around, his entire head probably tomato-bright right now, “Maine, I’m—I am so sorry, I didn’t—”

Maine shrugs. “Was funny.”

“I’m sure it was,” Wash mutters, and covers his face. “Oh my lord.”

Maine makes that funny rumble in his chest, which Wash suddenly realizes is laughter. He looks down at Wash, a very small smile quirking up the corner of his mouth, and Wash’s heart stutters.

“I get off at five,” he repeats, and then the elevator dings, and Maine gets off, and Wash has about forty seconds to cuss out a now loudly-laughing Carolina before they have to pretend to be professionals.


End file.
